


Reflections

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Series: Convenient Group of Femslash Fics [24]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex simultaneously being a shit and kind of helpful, F/F, mentions of previous abuse and rape, mentions of self harm/ self destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: There's a forest growing inside of Maria.Growth is supposed to be a positive thing but it never actually feels that way. It just feels like rot and disease, like another thing that wants to choke her. Tear her to pieces.The doctors insist that she's getting better. Her girlfriend insists that she's getting better. That it's possible to grow the forest into something new. Something positive.It's hard to believe when she just keeps hurting everyone around her.---In which Eliza reveals something she probably should have said years ago.It simultaneously goes worse and better than expected.





	Reflections

There’s something growing inside of Maria.

It is a series of vines sprawling out, tight knot where her heart was supposed to be. It clenches her with its thorns. Jerks her limbs around. Constricts around her lungs, tears into them when she forces herself to breathe.

Which doesn’t stop her from doing it, of course. 

In fact, she does it repeatedly, bitter in the knowledge that it hurts as much as the knife and yet people would congratulate her.

So proud of her for feeding the rotting forest that she has become instead of cutting it away. Instead of trying to free herself. 

The doctors swear that this is the right choice. That she isn’t supposed to starve it, or burn it, or smoke it out. That she has to try and figure out how to feed it so that it becomes healthy again. So that the rot turns into something else. So that it flourishes.

Maria hasn’t flourished in years.

Still. They promise her that there are other ways. Healthier ways. That she can drain the swamp, help filter out the grit and gross. She just has to dump it all out. 

In healthy ways, they make her promise. Dumping it out doesn’t involve heaving in front of the toilet or near the trees.

There’s a buzzing in Maria’s pocket and she can’t bring herself to answer it even though she does pull the phone out. Stares at the lock screen.

If it… If it weren’t for her… If it weren’t for her then Maria wouldn’t care about what the doctors said. She’s been trying to kill these fucking diseased plants for years and though she doesn’t care for the doctor’s methods, Eliza does. Eliza always look so said when she comes home and finds that Maria’s taken out the weed eater again.

Dump. Maria is supposed to dump.

Empty the well so that new, fresh water can come in.

\------

Eliza knows without checking that the paint won’t be coming out of the couch. Just as she knows that if she doesn’t replace it before Maria comes out of her stupor that the woman will rub her skin raw trying to clean it.

Sometimes Eliza wonders if Maria knows why the furniture changes so often. Or if she accepts Eliza’s excuses about needing a change of scenery. 

It isn’t even completely an excuse. They’ve moved seven times in the last four years. Always just a little further away from the city. Eliza can’t bear the idea of actually leaving. Alex might be flaky, Burr cold, Angelica a little judgemental, but they are the only family that they still have and Eliza knows better than to think that they will be able to start over new somewhere else.

So instead she looks up house listings nearby in her free time so that she is always prepared for the next incident.

Of course, until she sees Maria, she won’t know if this is an Incident.

So Eliza slips off her shoes. Doesn’t want to startle Maria wherever she is. Something Eliza keeps in mind as she gently pushes back the shower curtain. Opens the all the doors, careful to check the floor of the closet and the inside of the pantry. 

Even the drier reveals nothing.

Which only leaves the back porch.

A rare occasion, all things considered. In her moods Maria tends to prefer dark and small spaces, not outside. Not where the light is everywhere and there’s too many places to look at once. 

Any hopes that Eliza has about this meaning Maria is beginning to come out of are crushed when she sees her. Sees Maria’s shirt on the ground, not so much exposing skin as paint. Black and red handprints, the smear of fingers.

The torn up grass around her.

Thrashing. Maria has been thrashing, and Eliza knows without being able to see it that there are likely bruises under the paint. Angry red finger marks. 

But for now… For now there is no anger. Just Maria’s eyes open and unseeing, fixated on a nearby tree. Sometimes when she gets like this Eliza wonders what would happen if Eliza just…

Pushed. Lightly. Wonders if Maria would topple over. If Eliza could pick up her wrist and hold it in the air, wonders how heavily it would drop. A doll, only reacting passively to its environment. But Maria is no doll and she’s been controlled enough over the years. Pushed around enough. Thrown and tossed and made to drop.

Sometimes… Sometimes it makes Eliza sick that she even has these thoughts.

If she had the energy now would be one of those times. But it has been a long day at the office and there is only so much that Eliza can handle at once. Maria comes before her inner turmoil, before the guilt. She has to. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eliza knows better than to assume that Maria will stand up. 

It doesn’t mean she’s prepared for the moment when Maria twists to look at her, when Eliza can fully see the paint on her face. On her neck.

“I did what they asked,” Maria says. “I did what they asked.”

Eliza doesn’t ask what Maria means or who she is talking about. Just does her best to smile. “I believe you.”

“They said…” Maria gasps, clutching at her chest, black paint coating her bra. “They said it was for my own good. That it would be better this way.”

This… This is not better. They’d been doing so well lately. Gone almost a year without moving, only replaced the furniture twice. They’ve been doing so well. 

Eliza repeats that to herself. Over and over again. Maria’s been going to work. Maria’s been showering regularly. Maria’s hair is going long again. She doesn’t smell like a smoke stack. She’s been able to wear shorts and tank tops again. Maria’s been doing well. They’ve been doing well.

\---

Maria isn’t dating a mindreader, the last therapist had told her.

A fact that doesn’t stop the frustration from building when Eliza doesn’t seem to understand. Won’t stop looking at her with pity. Like a broken thing. 

She did what they asked. She did what they asked. She did what they asked.

So Eliza doesn’t get to look like that. Like she came home to find Maria bloodied or on the floor staring at the liquor bottle again or surrounded by empty pills.

Maria did as she was asked.

Eliza is still looking at her as if the rotting forest is surrounding a cemetery. Perhaps it is. Perhaps Maria has been imagining herself dead for so long that she has tombstones sprouting in her ribcage.

“I just wanted to be clean.”

Clean isn’t the right word. Something that becomes obvious when Eliza tries to encourage her to shower again. “They told me to dump it. I’ve dumped it, Eliza. I dumped it. Cleaned the well. Put it out into the world instead of just in my head.”

Eliza asks what she means and that, too, hurts. That Eliza makes her say these things instead of jumping to the obvious conclusions. That words are dragged out of her mouth lest she be accused of clamming up.

“What did you put out into the world, Maria?”

Sometimes Maria hates it when Eliza says her name at times like this. It is better than the pet names, the ones that Eliza favored in the beginning. The ones that Maria finally confessed to them using. To the way Sweetie and Precious Thing were seared into her skin.

It still makes her want to snarl that she knows who she is. Knows her own name, doesn’t need to be reminded what this carcass is called. 

Maria doesn’t say that. It’d be unfair. And the last thing she wants is to be unfair to the woman who has taken such good care of her. 

Instead she answers the question. “Sometimes… Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about their hands… I know you don’t know but--”

Eliza’s laughter isn’t what she expects.

\---

It’s Eliza fault, she supposes.

They’ve never really talked about this. Not in all the years they’ve been together. In the beginning… Maria had been so hurt. So fresh from the fire and Eliza had not. And then after that, even when things were going well, it just never seemed like the right time. Eventually it seemed like too much time had passed.

After all, it doesn’t bother her in the same way that it bothers Maria. Because it wasn’t as bad. Because it was so long ago. Because she’s always had people around her who believed her, had a father who was willing to shell out for the therapy. Even if Eliza sometimes suspected that it was just so that she never made a scene. So that it never came out in public, his precious daughter defiled.

“Angelica used to threaten to stay in the bathroom while I showered.” Seventeen years old, trying her best. So lost. “Came out one too many time with scratch marks. One too many times bleeding.”

Maria looks like she’s going to be sick.

“It only happened once,” Eliza tries to reassure her. Voice begging for Maria to understand. It wasn’t as bad. Just once. Not years upon years. No miscarriages. No hospital visits. Just once. Just a boy with hands and a mouth. Who didn’t know how to be anything but. “I won’t ever understand, Maria. I won’t ever understand what you went through. I had means. I had resources. A safe place to sleep a night. Doctors who never questioned me.”

Eliza doesn’t say cops that would believe her, though Eliza suspects that it was true. She just never tried. What she does know is that the cops never treated her like a suspect. Never interrogated her. Never asked if she truly wanted it. Or why she stayed. Eliza’s never asked Maria that question, though sometimes she wishes she knew the answer. Hates herself for not accepting that homelessness is reason enough. 

For wanting more than that.

“There is so much I will never understand.” Eliza continues forward even though she has no idea what she’s saying anymore. Just knows that this is a bad place to stop. “But hands? Hands I know.”

It’s meant to be reassuring. Maria looks more distraught than ever, more aware than she has all night. “I didn’t know.”

She sounds so sorry. Like she should have. Like people with handprints on them should be able to spot each other in a crowd, like Maria should have seen the outlines when they touched. Should have been able to feel them. “Because I didn’t tell you. Because it isn’t… It isn’t that big of a deal to me anymore.”

Because Eliza got better and it wasn’t fair to rub that in Maria’s face. That she’d had those resources. That she doesn’t feel like a ghost in her own body anymore.

\---

“I- I- I-” Maria finds herself scrambling. Mentally and physically. The diseased forest wrapping itself around her once more. “I need to go.”

It isn’t the right response. She knows this. She should stay. Should comfort Eliza the way Eliza would comfort her. But this isn’t something that Maria can process right now and she no longer feels covered in vines, they’re not dragging her down because there’s angry insects inside of her pushing her off the step and inside.

Eliza doesn’t follow. Or at least, she waits until Maria can no longer be certain. 

The water is cold, even as it hits her bra, dragging her attention to the fact that at some point she’d partially stripped.

It’s not a surprising thing, all things considered. It wasn’t as if she’d been allowed to keep her clothes on when they were--

Maria pushes her shoulder against the corner of the shower, trying to remind herself to stay present. She needs to get back to Eliza. Needs to figure out what she’s supposed to say. Right now this is no longer about her.

Part of her wants to turn the knob. Scorch her skin. Turn the twisting vines into brimstone and ash.

The doctors tell her that this is better. They probably didn’t intend for her to have it this cold, but they said that this is better. That showering isn’t meant to be punishment. 

Icy water almost definitely isn’t what they meant when they said that. But Maria takes her wins in inches not miles. She has to. She’d never have any wins if not.

When Maria finally makes her way out of the shower she is distinctly aware of the mess she is making. Of how the water drips from her shorts. Of the fact that she is still partially covered in paint. She just… hadn’t trusted herself to scrub. Not after the kind of day she’s had.

Eliza isn’t in the bedroom, something Maria is distinctly grateful for. Peels off what is left of her clothes and finds a large shirt to cover herself. A pair of sweatpants and a hoodie too, trying to hide what she has not done.

Eliza isn’t in the living room either. Not on the back porch or the kitchen. 

Maria makes a conscious effort to unclench her fist as she considers the front door. Unwilling to examine the panic she feels at the idea of Eliza leaving her. Of what it might mean. 

A panic that doesn’t completely go away even when she sees Eliza sitting on the front step, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. It makes Maria feel worse in a way. After all, Eliza had never smoked before they met and she only does it when things are really bad. Usually when Maria starts it.

The idea that Eliza sought them out by herself…

Maybe it would have been better to come out and find the car gone.

\----

“I don’t know what to say.”

Laughing again is definitely the wrong reaction, but Eliza still wants to. Hearing Maria echo her exact feeling isn’t something she’s used to. Sure, she doesn’t always know the best thing to do, but usually she has some notion of what is the wrong thing to. And usually Maria doesn’t talk about not knowing what to say. Usually it’s all about not knowing what Eliza wants.

Eliza never actually knows what to say to that. Follows the script instead, about how she wants Maria to feel better. Doesn’t want to push Maria into anything.

Saying that now doesn’t feel right.

Maybe she’s terrible for that. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything from you. I’m over it.”

That sounds so callous. But somewhere between confessing it and Maria coming out that door again, Eliza has moved from panic over making Maria feel better to numbness.

“Okay.” Maria is bouncing on her heels, Eliza can hear it even though she still doesn’t turn around. “You don’t need anything from me. Should I… Should I leave?”

It isn’t a fair thing to ask because there’s no way that Eliza can say yes. And reminding her of that fact reminds her of how trapped she feels whenever she stays in one place for too long.

Maybe this time they’ll move a little closer to the city. There’s a nice two bedroom apartment she’s been looking at, on a side of the city they’ve never lived. Pretty close to a yoga studio and a co-op. The sort of places that they sometimes like to escape to. That Eliza likes to escape to, she edits her thought, because if she’s being honest, Maria will follow her but she’s never actively mentioned wanting to go. 

“Okay,” Maria says again. “I’ll call Aaron. He’s probably willing to come pick me up.”

That isn’t what Eliza wants, it isn’t what Eliza wants at all but she doesn’t know how to say that so Maria disappears into the house and Eliza is left to think about what this means. That maybe, by opening up, she fucked up this time. That she’s ruined the weird sort of balance that they did have. That their relationship only has enough room for…

Maria would hate her for saying broken person.

Would hate her for thinking it.

But maybe only one of them is allowed to have issues. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to relate. Shouldn’t have compared their two experiences because, fuck, what does she actually know about abuse? About how Maria must feel when she ends up in this place?

Nothing.

Eliza knows nothing.

It’s strange that there’s no panic accompanying the thoughts, just more numbness.

\---

If Aaron is shelter, Alex is a forest fire.

He’s never been particularly good for her, but he’s also the only person answering his phone and maybe this is what she needs. Maybe they’ll get so drunk and high that they pass out in his car. Maybe Alex will punch someone out for looking at her wrong. Maybe this time he’ll fuck her instead of just flirting inappropriately, maybe that will make this break up hurt less.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?

A break up?

Maria is too twisted to know how to help, how to appropriately respond and so Eliza wants her gone. Doesn’t want her around.

Maybe when Alex is through with her she’ll be ash. Burnt to nothing. Besides, if she remembers his schedule right, he won’t be home long. Won’t be there to watch her rip out the pieces of her that they convinced her could be salvaged. 

Maria plans to meet him at the entrance to the neighborhood. Get as far away from the house as possible so that Eliza doesn’t even have to look at her anymore.

But apparently Alex was already out because he’s standing at the bottom step when she steps outside. 

“Look,” Alex says, glancing between the two of them, “I thought I sucked at communication but I think this might be a new all time high.”

Really? Because it feels like an all time low.

Maria doesn’t have to say so because Eliza snorts. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Alex winks when he says it. “But I’d much rather read Maria’s text outloud.”

“What if we don’t and say we did.” Maria clenches the strap to her bag. “I just- I should-”

Alex says Eliza’s name. Once. Twice. Something in his tone that makes no sense to Maria, but puts her on edge. Especially when Eliza buries her face in her hands. The forest inside of Maria is tightening its grip. Tightening her arms to her body, making it impossible to move.

Again. Alex says Eliza’s name again 

“I won’t say goodbye.”

Okay.

She’s not sure why Alex pushed Eliza to say that, but she understands. 

“I don’t-” Eliza lefts her head, and Maria can practically hear the tears in her voice- “I don’t-”

Alex, for all his insistence that Eliza be the one to say it, talks over her when she isn’t going fast enough. “Eliza isn’t trying to break up with you and I don’t know what the fuck happened to make you think that, but she seemed pretty shocked when I asked her why she was throwing years of y’all away. At least with me I know exactly what I did.”

It’s weird being reminded that he and Eliza were a thing before. 

“I don’t understand. I just--”

Hearing the tears and seeing the redness on Eliza’s face are two different feelings entirely, the kind of feeling that Maria can’t translate. Doesn’t know if she wants to run or crumble. “You didn’t say you wanted me to stay.”

“That doesn’t mean I want us to break up.” Eliza rubs at her eyes. “I didn’t think… I wasn’t trying to… But of course you don’t have any experience with an argument that doesn’t end in fists or a break up. And since I wasn’t…”

It’s not fair of Eliza to make those assumptions. Maria’s had plenty of arguments before it’s just… never one like this. Never one that she cared about the outcome, for reasons other than fear. 

“Point being,” Alex continues as if Eliza didn’t speak. “I could totally still take you to my place and we could smoke until we can’t stand up, but like- I’d suggest y’all talking instead.”

Maria isn’t sure how much she wants to talk. Isn’t sure she understands what is going on.

“So?” Alex looks between them again. “Can I get a nod from each of you that says I can go back home and return to my manuscript or do I have to drag you to the table myself?”

\---

They don’t sit at the table at all.

Eliza collapses on the couch, hyper aware of the way Maria curls up on the floor. The exact opposite of how they’d been outside, with Eliza up high and she thought it’d make her feel safer. 

It doesn’t. She can’t stop staring at Maria’s bag by the door. Can’t stop the shame that bubbles up in her that she hadn’t even considered…

Of everything to not consider. She’s been so careful over the years to avoid arguing. To avoid anything that even looks like an argument.

It hits her how fucking tired she is. Most of the time it’s easy. They don’t have many disagreements period. A mix of both of them not wanting to fight most likely. Something that probably has made this all the worse.

“I wish you’d told me,” Maria says finally. “All this time… I understand being resentful.”

Resentful is the last thing Eliza is. No, Maria’s moods are never any fun but they’ve gotten easier to handle. And in some ways, she’s worked through more of her shit with Maria than she ever really did in therapy. Trying to set a good example for Maria means that she takes better care of herself and she feels safer with Maria there even when things aren’t so great.

Even if Maria doesn’t always believe it, she’s kind and comforting. 

“I just,” Eliza puffs out her cheeks as she pauses. “Wanted you to realize that you aren’t alone all the time. That things you talk about sometimes aren’t…. They aren’t just you.”

Maria picks at the carpet as they sit in silence. “I’m sorry it happened to you. You’re such a good person.”

So is Maria.

When Eliza says as such, Maria laughs mirthlessly. “If I was, it wouldn’t be a relief that you’re a survivor too. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up.” 

Eliza’s been around long enough to know that arguing with Maria about this won’t do anything. So instead she moves to the floor, shrugging. “If you’re fucked up, then I’m fucked up too. We can be fucked up together, okay?”

For a tense moment Eliza doesn’t know how Maria’s going to respond. Doesn’t know what she’ll do if Maria still thinks they should break up. 

Instead she gives a half smile. “Do I at least get to help pick out the new couch this time?”

Eliza thinks about mentioning the apartment. About suggesting they move again, give themselves a chance to start over new again. Run away from the memories of this incident the way Eliza’s been running away from them all along.

But maybe… Maybe it’s time to stop running. “You really wanna get dragged to eight different furniture stores on a Sunday morning?”

Maria’s nod doesn’t quite squash all the anxiety feels, but it does soothe quite a few of them. And for the time, that's enough.


End file.
